Behind The Fic
by The Almighty Authorettes
Summary: Ever wonder what those other fics skip over? Those awkward, strange, or just plain crack-tastic moments they don't bother to put in? Well, wonder no more! This series of one shots deals with all that and more! Various ratings and pairings.
1. The Typical Morning After Awkwardness

AN: Welcome to the first chapter of Behind The Fic, the Fic that shows you all the craziness the other fics leave out! Just to let you know... We own nothing. We are broke. Please don't sue us.

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Rating: T (I think... If I'm wrong, let me know and I'll change it)

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**In Which The Typical Morning After Awkwardness Becomes Just a Bit More Awkward**

Six months. Six months on this plastic piece of floating rubbish, and he had finally sunk as low as he could. He had been lonely, he reasoned. And anyway, who else had been there? It's not like it would happen again...

It was at this point that his half-coherent thoughts were interrupted as the blue-haired singer whom his musings were about snuggled a little closer to the bassist in his sleep. Murdoc found himself jerked awake a touch more, but didn't see any particular reason to move or leave the room. It wasn't that he didn't want to wake the other man or leave the warm embrace. Of course not. Couldn't be. Besides, who could walk in on them? Cyborg Noodle? She wouldn't care. If she did, he could always reprogram her to not care.

He couldn't help feeling... Guilty. He hated admitting he had emotions at all, but on this bloody hunk of plastic... Well, nothing could be hidden, not for long. Every mistake man made ended up here. Every little mistake from the beginning of history was laid bare, including - no, _especially_ - his own.

Stu had actually been creating a life for himself without Murdoc. He had even been succeeding without him. The man he had always thought of as a dullard had found direction and had actually begun to make something of himself... Alone, without any help. Yet Murdoc had taken it away from him, dragging the other man into the abyss of death threats, ominous green fog, and the total, utter _aloneness_ that embodied his life at present.

What kind of man was he? His drummer was missing, his _real_ guitarist was Satan-knows-where (if the girl wasn't dead, that was), and the one band mate he had managed to track down hadn't wanted anything to do with him. The singer had told him to piss off. And if that wasn't enough, he was being chased down by Russian pirates, multiple criminals around the world, several third-world dictators, and some family members (which was, quite possibly, the worst of the lot).

And, despite all that, the younger man had forgiven him. Shit, he'd locked the man in an underwater room, knowing full-well of his irrational fear of whales, and _still_ the singer had forgiven him...

He brushed the younger man's blue hair out of his face. It wasn't quite as spiky as it had been before, and looked to be a bit shorter, too. He looked healthier then he ever had at Kong, or at any point during the (Christ, had it really been that long?) 11 years they had known each other. The singer's expression seemed to tighten suddenly while his nails, somewhat sharp even though they were trimmed, scraped against the bassist's chest. His jaw was clenched and there was a slight sheen of sweet on his furrowed brow. A small whimper escaped his slightly parted lips, and the Satanist wondered if he was having a nightmare. Probably.

Murdoc sighed, not wanting to ruin the whooshing quiet that was around him, yet also wanting to never hear another wave lap against the plastic shore for the rest of his life. This place was maddening... With another sigh, he shook the other man's shoulder in an attempt to wake him.

"Stu," he said, giving the singer's shoulder another shake, "Stu!"

2D opened his eyes, startled and still half asleep. "Nng?" he blinked a few times, "Wot-?" he yawned, interrupting himself, then looked around with a growing blush, "Wot'd we-?"

"'Zactly what you think, Stu," Murdoc replied, feeling around with his free hand for his rum, "Le's not talk about it, s'better that way..." He took a swig of the rum, not caring if he didn't have mixer at the moment, and didn't move from where he lay, one arm lazily around the singer's shoulders, and both of them completely nude. It wasn't as if he wasn't moving because he wanted to stay there, of course not. He was just... He just didn't want to move yet. That was it. He was too lazy to move just yet.

"You do know, mate, that we're not doing this again," he said suddenly, looking directly into the singers blackened eyes... The injury he had caused. That wasn't a twinge of guilt in his gut... It was indigestion. Definitely indigestion.

2D looked confused. "But... But las' night you said-"

"I was drunk las' night, dullard."

"Then... Why are we still-?"

"I'm drunk now," the bassist said, even though he was barely buzzed, as he took another swig from the bottle of rum. "I'm quite sure," he continued in between small sips, "That I'll regret this... When I'm sober." He finished off the bottle, tossing it to the side with a hollow thunk, not even managing to break it. He rolled on top of the younger man, one hand of each side of his head, "'D, understand," he said, voice low, "i's nothing personal..."

2D was confused anew. "Wot's nuffink personal?" he asked, blinking up at the bassist.

"Don't interrupt me," Murdoc said, "I wozn't finished." He paused for several moments before continuing. "You know," he said slowly, "This... This meant nothing... I woz jus'... Er-" He tried to think of a good excuse.

"Drunk?"

Perfect. "Yeah, drunk."

"But then... Why're you still-?" 2D's voice trailed off, as if he wasn't sure how to put it. It was a moment before Murdoc, blinking in confusion, realized what he meant. He was still on top of the singer. Mentally cursing himself, he tried to think of a reason... And couldn't.

"I 'aven't a bloody clue, mate..."

After a moment's thought that seemed to stretch forever, he finally managed to get up, even if he was a little wobbly.

"It still didn't mean anything," he said again, as if repeating it would make it true. Deep down, he couldn't deny that it had meant _something_... Though what, he still didn't know.

He made the mistake of looking back at the singer. He had that expression, the one that made him feel that twinge of guilt he'd always tried to pass off as indigestion. He groaned inwardly. Why in Hell did the singer have to give him _that_ look?

"Awright, mate," Murdoc said, giving up, "We'll... Talk about it..." He sighed, eyeing the empty bottle he had thrown earlier.

"I need more rum," he muttered, leaving the room.

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2D propped himself up on his elbows, watching the bassist leave the room. He was still trying to figure out what, exactly, had just happened... But it seemed like a step in the right direction. Though... He could be wrong about that. He listened, staring at the door, as Murdoc's footsteps echoed in the hall, getting fainter as he moved away from the room. There was a pause, then the unsteady steps began getting louder, heading back toward the room. The singer waited for the other man to reenter for whatever reason... But only heard a lock click into place before the footsteps retreated again.


	2. Murdoc Learns About his Family Tree

AN: Please remember that these are totally unrelated one shots. And that we are but poor students and own nothing. This one was written entirely by me, Authorette Lighthouse. The other one was written mostly by the other Authorette, Stalker... Yeah, not important. XD

Pairing: None

Rating: Probably a very low T...

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**In Which Murdoc Learns About His Family Tree**

Contrary to what he often told people, Murdoc's eyes had always been two different colors. Of course, the red had been artificial... He wasn't an albino or anything. No, it was a rather unusual and striking shade of stormy blue-grey with an undertone of violet, contrasting completely with the dark brown, almost black, eye he had inherited from his father. He had hid it in his childhood with a colored contact, wanting to avoid questions he couldn t answer. When the artificial red began to fade, he started to hide it again. But seeing the color start to emerge made him curious about the source of the oddly colored eye. His mother. It had to be her... He had seen pictures of his dad's family, and none of them had grey or violet eyes. So, when he was quite drunk, he hired a private detective to track down the woman. And now, months later, the man's results had arrived in the mail.

"Abigail Malone," Murdoc muttered to himself as he read, "Died on November 20th, 1997, due to overdose. Deemed to be suicide by police." So, the woman was dead. No big deal... He hadn t been thinking of talking to her anyway. He continued reading, eating up this description of this previously unknown part of himself.

She had been born to an Irish man, prone to drinking too much and singing badly, with flaming red hair (well, that explained why at least one of his many illegitimate kids had red hair, at least) and stormy blue-grey eyes and a woman from London who was largely unremarkable... Except for her stunning violet eyes. They had lived somewhere in Hertfordshire and had 6 children. The eldest had been a son, Daniel, then his mother, then her sister, Rachel, and finally two younger brothers, Ethan and Isaac. His mother had moved to Stoke at the age of 23 with her fiance, who was later killed in a car accident on November the 20th of the same year. The accident had made her so distraught that she had gone insane, becoming a nymphomaniac, among other things. She had gone into the local mental hospital and had him a few years later. There had been no doubt as to who his father had been, as he was the only person who had bothered to visit her in over a year. After that, nothing of note really happened to her until she committed suicide. But the detective had also included information on the woman's 5 siblings. The eldest brother, Daniel, had died of leukemia at 11. Ethan was now living in London with his long time boyfriend where as the youngest, Isaac, had gone to America and become a porn star. Murdoc was surprised and not just a little disturbed to realize he had watched quite a few of his uncle's movies. Then there was the sister, Rachel. She had stayed in Hertfordshire and became a nurse, eventually marring a local fairground owner, David Tusspot, who later shortened the surname to Pot...

Murdoc dropped the paper with a shocked expression. Sweet Satan, 2D was his cousin.


	3. Murdoc Receives a Very Strange Visit

AN: Thanks for the reviews! Though either of us knows what PUs mean... This chapter was written solely by Authorette Stalker. Enjoy!

Pairing: None

Rating: Again, probably a very low T...

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**In Which Murdoc Receives a Very Strange Visit**

Hannibal Niccals stared at the shocked look on his brother's face. Though the surroundings would normally be eye-catching, he was far too busy scrutinizing the more famous Niccals' face for some indication of an emotion other than surprise. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he realized the bassist was speechless.

"Wot, ya little git--yer actin' like yeh've seen a ghost?" then, after a moment of thought, "Or an angel." he added just to annoy the Satanist.

Murdoc blinked a few times, mainly to assure himself that it wasn't a hallucination, and that his brother, whom he hadn't seen in more than 9 years, and hadn't heard from in over 5, along with a guy he didn't recognize at all, were really standing in front of him, "You--he...er...who--how the fuck-?"

The older Niccals laughed loudly, "You nob, i's not like yer radio shows are exactly 'ard to track, you give the coordinates--you look like rubbish, by the way."

The bassist's eyes turned to the other man who graced his plastic shoreline, "And who're you?" he managed, sounding vaguely annoyed.

It was Hannibal's turn to look uncomfortable, "'E's no one."

The man shot a small glare at the aging punk, crossing his arms. Murdoc noticed.

"Well, if he's no one, I can throw him off the island then, can't I?" the Satanist said with a certain hint of glee at the prospect of future ammunition against his brother.

The man sighed in exasperation, "Just tell him, Hanni."

Murdoc laughed, "'Hanni'?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"He's my bloody boyfriend, a'right?" the oldest of them growled.

The younger Niccals stared for a moment, watching the colour build on his older brother's face before he burst into near giggles.

Hannibal became increasingly annoyed, before nearly losing his temper completely, grabbing the much more successful Niccals by the shirt collar and nearly punching his lights out, stopped only by his boyfriend's sudden grip on his arm, and his sudden thinking better of it.

"Let him be, we'll find someplace else to hide out," the man said calmly, as if he didn't particularly care if the older man punched his brother or not, but held him back anyway, just in case it did cost them a possible place to stay.

Murdoc snickered, unphased, "Yeah, Hanni, you queer--listen to yer boyfriend." he took a swig of his rum as if all were normal, almost trying to rub it in his brother's face that he was losing his touch.

The older Niccals stood hovering between anger and grudging acceptance. He did need a place to hide out for a bit, and it wasn't as if their bastard of a father would take him in. After a long moment's glare he released the younger man, "Look, Murdoc, I need to hide out for a bit--gimme a bloody break." Hannibal said, trying to keep control of his voice, and not let too much of the resentment or stress he currently felt into it.

Murdoc took in his older brother's slouched figure with a judgmental eye, "Why?" he finally asked.

Hannibal looked uncomfortable, "We fucked over some high-ups in the Mafia, " he muttered.

"Which Mafia?" the younger of the brothers asked, strolling down the obnoxiously coloured beach, lighting a cigarette and not offering one to Hannibal, "Wait, " he cut in before the older Niccals could answer, "Lemme guess--the 'Gay Mafia', right? " Then another pause, "No, wait, they'd enjoy you 'fucking over' them." he laughed loudly.

Hannibal glared for about five minutes before he finally managed to speak, his tone clipped and annoyed, "Laugh it up, you 'tard--'re you 'elping me out or not?"

Murdoc pretended to consider for a moment before coming to the decision he had known was coming all along, "I know yer rubbish, Hanni--but you can get the fuck off my island." With that, he ducked.


End file.
